


Pardon My French

by YuriPirozhki (AceOfSpace)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A small boy trying to make friends, First Love, JJ is not very good at flirting, Junior! Era, M/M, Pining JJ, if someone could tell me how to properly edit translations in that would be super
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9968945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfSpace/pseuds/YuriPirozhki
Summary: Jean-Jacques Leroy is thirteen, and Seung-Gil Lee will teach him Korean, but only on one condition.Read in Chinese- with thanks to veronicaaaa





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a tweet by @SEUNGGIL  
> If anyone knows how to properly do the hovering box translations, please let me know!

“Seung-Gil, will you teach me Korean?”

“Sure,” was his mildly sarcastic reply, “But you have to teach me French, first.”

“Okay!” he exclaimed before skating fiercely towards the edge of the rink.

Jean-Jacques Leroy had a smile that could light up a city, one that could sway a crowd and wrap an unsuspecting stranger around his little finger. He oozed charisma and commanded attention like a king, a nickname he’d earned in the few years prior. One such smile bloomed from his lips as the Seung-Gil Lee addressed him directly, offering to teach him a new language, to spend time with him. The South Korean prodigy was over a year older than him - _Fifteen! So mature!_ \- and to watch him on the ice was like a dream. He almost transformed into a new person after donning his skates, with a cold gleam in his dark eyes, a calculating expression and a certain something about his jumps which made them look effortless. He was so mature, and Jean-Jacques was in awe. He landed triples like they were the easiest thing in the world. The young Canadian had also executed each of his jumps perfectly in practice, but he felt luckier somehow, probably to do with the deal he’d just made. With the way things were going, he could score himself a medal in the Junior Grand Prix final, make a new friend, and learn some new words to impress his friends back home.

“Let’s start now!” he suggested eagerly, his skates barely off the ice, “ _Je m'appelle JJ!_ It means ‘My name’s JJ’’ or “I am called JJ’ if you _really_ wanna get technical, but what you would say is _‘Je m’appelle Seung-Gil.'_ You try!” 

Seung-Gil had already removed his skates and sat on a rinkside bench with a blank and disinterested expression, but it wasn’t something to which JJ paid much attention. More rather, he didn’t notice. He was too busy entranced by the subtle pattern on his national team jacket, tiny characters embroidered on the left sleeve assumed to be the skater’s name. There were only three; in English, his name was so much longer. It had him wondering as to what his own name would look like. Perhaps he’d find out in time, he thought.

“ _Je m’appelle … Seung-Gil._ ” It was a murmur at best, but JJ was more than satisfied.

“ _Incroyable!_ ” his arms were raised as he was beaming. “That’s another word for you; it means ‘incredible’, or ‘‘amazing’.” 

The thirteen-year-old sat himself down next to his new acquaintance and proceeded to take off his skates. He stretched his aching feet, then lowered them to the ground, taking a moment to appreciate the grandeur of the ice rink before them. The eldest son of Canadian figure skating royalty, JJ had often been told that he’d end up in a situation like this; competing for glory on the global scale. However, he hadn’t believed it until it came true. Here he was, vying for the title of the best junior skater in the world, competing in the Netherlands, sitting with Seung-Gil from South Korea, who was fifteen and gifted and enchanting. He was with skaters who had fanbases, rooms full of trophies, videos online with view counts into the hundreds of thousands, even millions. JJ himself had watched Seung-Gil’s videos more times than he could count. To be sitting with him, actually holding a conversation with him, was surreal.

They spent the next few minutes going over some basic terms in French, such that JJ thought Seung-Gil might find important. He began with single words such as ‘ _Bonjour_ ’ and ‘ _Merci_ ’, before slowly moving on to simple questions. If they were ever to compete in Paris together, it would have been important for the older boy to ask _'Parlez-vous coréen?'_ and _‘Où sont les toilettes?’_ in the case of an emergency.

JJ didn’t mind that Seung-Gil spent most of the time glancing at his phone. At least, he was bothering to repeat the phrases spoken to him. It was more conversation than what he’d had with a lot of other skaters. JJ felt rather lonely and disliked most of the time, and he wasn’t quite sure why, so to have someone engaging in talk with him was nice.

“Seung-Gil?” he asked, hoping to rouse his company away from his phone screen.

“Mm?”

“Would you say that we’re friends now?”

His response was quick and blunt.

“No.”

The younger boy put his best acting skills on display as he hid his disappointment and sadness. Ever since watching his first competition video online, he had thought the world of Seung-Gil, enthralled by his talent and besotted with his cool persona. To watch him skate all day long would be bliss, and knowing that they’d be facing off, in reality, made his heart race with excitement. Of course, it was easy to tell that his feelings were far from reciprocated. The Korean boy seemed to care very little about what was going on around him, and whether that was due to competition nerves or it simply being part of his personality was uncertain. All JJ knew was in that moment, he felt very unimportant, but it didn’t change his opinion on Seung-Gil; that he was one of the greatest skaters his age he’d ever seen. He was utterly fascinating.

“Oh, of course!” he played along, faking a smile, “We’re more like rivals, aren’t we?”

Seung-Gil’s bushy eyebrows narrowed.

“Okay, but listen!” JJ insisted as he gave a nod, “Friends always say _‘Good luck! Do your best!’_ , but rivals are always pushing you to be even better. Not just your best, but _the_ best. Thanks, Seung-Gil!” He wasn’t sure if it all made sense outside his adolescent mind, but the Canadian boy felt like he had a point. He was convinced that things turned out this way for the best. If Seung-Gil really became his friend, it would have hindered his ability to concentrate and be worthy competition.

He rose from the bench, skates in hand, and began to retreat to the rink’s exit doors. As much as he wanted to leave and not look back, he couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Seung-Gil’s messy black hair, the bright colours of the South Korean flag on his jacket, his thumb gliding across the screen of his phone like he hadn’t a care in the world. 

_"Tu illumines mon coeur,"_ JJ spoke airily, not expecting his voice to be heard.

“Hm?” murmured the older boy, turning from his gadget to face him, “What does that mean?”

JJ felt his cheeks warm ever so slightly, but he knew he had to remain calm. It was bad enough that he had nervous thoughts about the competition swirling about his mind. He didn’t need to grossly embarrass himself right before the Grand Prix Final.

A telltale smirk stretched across his lips, one that the thirteen-year-old thought would be suitable for a rival. “It means ‘I’m gonna kick your ass!’” He couldn’t help but chuckle. Had his parents been around, he would have got a stern talking to for using such a word.

“Oh, well, in that case, _tu … illumines … mon coeur_ , too,” replied the Korean. “I guess we’ll find out who’s telling the truth tomorrow, hmm?”

“That’s right! _Bonne nuit,_ Seung-Gil!” he called out cheerfully before leaving the door behind him. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest. Nobody had to know what he really said. 

For years, nobody did.

In countries where other languages dominated, he could speak with no filter when it came to Seung-Gil. He could compliment him on how dashing he looked in his costumes, how impressed he was by how tall he was getting, how his eyes shimmered like onyx under the stadium’s fluorescent lights. Naturally, JJ disguised all of this as series of taunts. Seung-Gil cracked a hint of a smile when he was teased. Okay, it was only a couple of times, and definitely more of a devilish smirk, but JJ figured that he could dream. Even as time passed and they crossed paths in more competitions than he could count, he still hoped to see a real smile from him.

“ _Tu illumines mon coeur!_ ” he would call out with a smile before the Korean took to the ice.

He would repeat it back, the pronunciation perfected in the many years they’d known each other.

One day, at nineteen, Jean-Jacques Leroy found himself at the Rostelecom Cup.

After already having earned a gold medal at Skate Canada, he was poised to take home the year’s Grand Prix Championship. It was something that really seemed possible, now that Victor Nikiforov was off the skating scene, at least as a competitor. JJ would be entering the rink as a strong favourite, with an undeniable global presence, an unyielding fanbase, a trademark catch phrase and even a theme song. He knew his routine like the back of his hand. He had nailed every step sequence and jump in practice, even each of his quads. He could practically smell his victory in the changing rooms, as he spoke to the press, as he smiled lovingly at his parents-come-coaches. This was going to be his day. His year. He was certain that he would secure victory in today’s skate, and then do it all again the Barcelona Grand Final. After all, he was the infamous King JJ, the new golden boy of the figure skating world. 

Of course, if the unthinkable were to happen and someone else were to win, there was one person who came to mind.

Seung-Gil Lee was now a dashing young man of twenty, but there were still many aspects of his fifteen-year-old self etched into his being. His voice still had the tendency to drip with indifference as he spoke, and his thickened brow furrowed as he processed the words of others. JJ watched him with intrigue as he passed by the other competitors, paying them little to no mind. Even Sara Crispino, a pretty and talented Italian skater, tried to flirt with him, and he all but dismissed her with a wave of the hand. JJ felt a warmth bloom in his chest, and his lips stretched into a thin, and hopefully unnoticeable, smile.

It had been a few months since they had competed against each other, and of all the people for JJ to test his skills again, Seung-Gil was, by far and away, his favourite. After all, they were rivals. Nobody motivated him to perform his best like he did. Nobody was quite as good as pushing his buttons, at occupying his thoughts and sneaking into his dreams. It was almost like with everything he did, the Korean skater was in mind. Jean-Jacques Leroy wanted to be the best figure skater in the world, and he so desperately wanted - no, _needed_ \- for Seung-Gil to notice.

He was by a set of elevator doors when their eyes met. JJ’s lips were curled upwards as he watched the goings on of a group beyond him. He didn’t often find himself bonding with the other skaters, - for some reason, he felt disliked by many of them-, but they were nothing short of fascinated by Seung-Gil. It was almost like a competition for his attention, but one in which the Korean didn’t want to partake. JJ could see the desperation to leave, the yearning for solitude and peace in his deep grey eyes.

“Hey, Seung-Gil!” called JJ, elevator doors opening wide behind him. “ _Tu illumines mon coeur!_ ” A tiny chuckle escaped him, knowing that his ‘taunt’ would only rile him up before the competition began. However, to his surprise, he found himself followed, with Seung-Gil all but power-walking to the elevator, pushing past those who fawned over him until it was just the two young men behind closed doors, with an unnecessarily small distance between them.

“Really? Still?” the older skater murmured, “I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. This wasn’t right. JJ suddenly became conscious of the sweat on his palms, and his gaze made a beeline to the floor. He cursed his younger self for pulling such a ridiculous trick, and for not expecting it to backfire at one point or another. Then again, perhaps his competitor was bluffing, and it was just an attempt to kill his cool by playing at his nerves. Everything could still be okay, thought JJ. They could leave once the doors opened, go their separate ways and never speak to each other again. Better yet, perhaps it was all in his imagination. Perhaps he would blink and he’d be downstairs again.

He shuddered as he felt two fingers on his chin, tilting it upward. This was definitely not in his mind.

Before he had time to process his surroundings, he felt Seung-Gil’s lips on his own. Aside from disbelief that it was really happening, all JJ could think of was how soft they were. The kiss didn’t last very long, but he didn’t mind. It was enough. The infatuated thirteen-year-old version of himself was jumping for joy. He’d dreamt of this kind of closeness with him since the first time he saw him skate.

They were silent after that. The Canadian wondered if his cheeks were red, or if Seung-Gil could hear his pulse racing, for it certainly hammered in his ears. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, the words dancing at his tongue but unable to sound. He had so many questions to ask. Did he understand French? If so, for how long? And was he fluent? Was his gesture or premeditated? Had Seung-Gil, too, been harbouring mutual feelings ever since they became rivals all those years ago? Still, even if JJ could have spoken, there wasn’t the time. A high-pitched bell had chimed and the elevator doors opened wide. His competitor was already halfway out the door before he could utter a word.

“Oh, and JJ?”

“Mm?”

Seung-Gil flashed a rare devilish smirk his way, and a wink that nobody else would see.

_ "Je vais te botter le cul." _


End file.
